True As It Can Be - 9. Chapter 9

At some point my consciousness returns from the world of dreams, my fingers feel clammy against sweaty skin, but it’s not my skin. I smell the aroma of male musk, it isn’t unpleasant. It takes me a moment to remember as I realize where I am and whose arms are wrapped around me, since my movement is being hindered by big muscular arms. My eyes open to the visage of a wild creature, blond hair too long and unruly obscuring a disfigured face. During the night, my arms wrapped around his neck, so I could share in our embrace. I can feel his sweat soaked T-shirt, which has soaked through my shirt and transferred some of his scent onto my own body.

It feels weird to be so intimately entangled with Brad like this, but there’s a comfort from this position. It’s not even sexual or sensual. I’ve heard of snuggling before, but that’s usually sexual and I always pictured it with both guys being more active with their hands exploring naked flesh. I guess it’s cuddling, but we’re way past the definition of cuddling, when I am unconsciously rubbing my hard dick against his stomach and his body has been covering me all night. I wonder if there’s an in-between state for a sexual snuggle and a non-sexual cuddle, maybe a huggle, if such a thing exists. I know we’re building up to sex, I mean it’s what everything is supposed to lead to right, according to all those romantic movies.

No, I am just assuming Brad wants all of this to lead to sex. He only agreed to huggle while he was medicated. I am rock hard and he’s completely soft, even in the morning. I thought all guys are supposed to be hard in the morning. I’ve seen him aroused by me before. What’s wrong with what we’re doing or what we did?

Brad stirs awake as I begin shaking in fear and self-doubt, he tightens his hold on me instinctively.

He clears his voice, “Beau, are you feeling better?”

I nod, trying to calm my shaking and rasp out a reply, “I…I…I’m okay.”

He drops his head and kisses my forehead, then rubs my back, “You know you’re really bad at lying. Now, tell me the truth, what’s bothering you right now? Is it still Gary? That bastard will never touch you again over my dead body.”

Being reminded of yesterday, brings fresh panic and fear. Without saying another word, I try to squirm out of his arms, but there is no escape from Brad’s larger body. He’s not hurting me with his grip or personal strength, just holding me and rubbing my back intermittently. I want to escape the hold and run out of the house, but I remember what Brad said to me last night. He wants to protect me; he wants me to be happy. Despite my instinct to run and hide, my desire to stay with him is stronger. After a few minutes, I calm down and breathe in Brad’s scent.

When I stop squirming and settle again, Brad pushes for me to answer his earlier question, “What’s bothering you right now?”

I breathe in more of his scent, feel his strong arms holding me, and know somehow, he won’t abandon me.

I answer him, “I’m worried he’s going to come after everyone, including you. You’ve been hurt by him before. I’m worried that I can’t be a good friend to everyone here, I don’t know what to say to them. I’m worried you don’t like me, because you don’t really know me.”

Brad growls at my words, “We can’t control what Gary does. I can promise you, he’ll come after you no matter if you’re alone or with others. Better to spread the risk and have witnesses,” he pauses considering something, “He did hurt me, but I won’t let him hurt you. You will be safer with me. I just want you to be safe and happy.”

I want to believe him, but something nags at me, “Why do you want me to be safe and happy? You used to only want sex from me, but now you don’t seem to care. You don’t really know me that well, we barely know each other. You don’t believe in fantasy romances, either.”

He laughs, “No, I don’t believe in fantasy romances, not anymore,” a look of sadness sweeps his expression, then dissipates as he stares at me, “However, I can answer one part of your concerns easily. I can’t easily get hard after taking Methadone for a few days. It’s like the reverse-Viagra, taking it makes me soft and being off it makes me horny,” he chuckles at his weird impotency, then continues, “I can’t explain easily why I want you to be safe and happy…umm…Maybe, it’s like how I feel about Cam, when I first met him and wanted to do everything to make him happy, but deeper.”

He pauses to collect his thoughts; I can tell his access to memories is still not at full strength. I try to remember, who Cam was in relation to Brad’s life. The name came up once during his hallucinations, Friday night. It takes me a few moments, before I recall the fact. Cam is the name of Brad’s dog.

Brad seems lost in his thoughts, so I try to offer him direction by asking, “How did you meet your dog? Why is it important for keeping me safe and happy?” considering what he may offer and propose, I add, “I do not want to be your pet.”

Clarity dawns in Brad, he replies to me quickly, “No, you are not my pet, but I still want to keep you, sort of like Cam, just closer. I met Cam at Bear Lake in the Rocky Mountains National Park, when I went camping with Gary. I had just turned 13. We were hiking by ourselves through one of the trails by the lake. I found the body of a big black Labrador Retriever in the woods along the trail. She was likely abandoned out there by her owner. Her body was eviscerated with pieces of her organs hanging out. A bunch of little puppies were also dead around her with bite marks, blood, and guts. Only one little black pup survived, he was whimpering softly at his miserable life by his dead mother and siblings. He looked at us pleading, then back to his mother. Gary was busy taking pictures of the gory scene and smiled at the puppy pleading for our help. Gary wanted to leave the puppy behind and wait in hiding for the predator to come back to finish it off. I usually took Gary’s ideas to heart, because he was my best friend even if the idea seemed heartless or cruel. He took my advice about school, clothing, and sports stuff, so I thought we had a really good balanced relationship. Yet, seeing the dejected pup, who just lost its entire family, broke me. I took the puppy with me instead of leaving him out to die in the woods. The puppy became more than a pet to me, I adopted him into my family. That’s how I met Cam 5 years ago. I named him after Cam Newton, since his team, the Carolina Panthers, had made it to the Super Bowl and lost against Peyton Manning’s Denver Bronco. I saw the same look on his face as I saw in yours Thursday night. You both needed to be protected and cared for. You both needed me to be strong for you.”

I let my mind wander into dreams that I never thought I’d allow myself to dream again, since my experiences with Jeremy in Minnesota. I can picture myself being in Brad’s arms for years, from a huggle like this to being completely naked with his skin against mine as we grow old together. I know he won’t let Gary hurt me. It’s just him and me in my mind’s eye.

I kiss his neck to show my appreciation, “I want to be happy and I want you to be happy, too.”

Brad releases his hold on me, “I am happy with you, but you won’t be safe here from Gary. Maybe, McGill University will be far enough away from him and we can hide out in one of those old-fashioned log cabins. It worked for Lincoln and Speed, so why not us?”

My mind quickly makes a backflip, Brad wants to run-off to McGill University. Beyond mutually confessing emotions without a label of being in a relationship just a second ago, this is really moving too fast. Life isn’t a fairy tale, no matter how much I want to be swept up by a prince and live happily ever after.

True, I guess we’re already cohabiting and I know I can trust him to treat me with respect at least most of the time, but it’s way too much and too soon. McGill is a really nice university in Montreal, Canada, but what about everything here and all the other guys at Keller Hall? I get that it would protect me from Gary Gaston to be in another country, but Brad is making decisions without even considering my thoughts or other people’s issues.

I point my head up to look at Brad’s sapphire eyes, “Brad, what about New England? What about this university? What about all the people at Keller Hall?”

Brad focus his beautiful eyes on me, “They don’t matter, you do, Beau.”

The words from Cook came back to me from early Saturday morning.

“You shouldn’t expect him to be a normal partner. Emotionally, he doesn’t know how to feel with all his experiences.”

Brad wants to shower me with care and protection, but he’s not in a good place. He’s also being really self-centered with how he acts. Yes, I get it, he’s doing it for me, but his way of internalizing decisions is what caused a lot of his other problems, including not seeing Gary Gaston for what he truly was, a monster. He’s a devoted and decent guy, but he needs to expand his emotional sphere. Maybe, I can open his mind to other possibilities.

I cautiously counter his assertion, “What about the university? You must have cared about this school before deciding to attend.”

Brad snorts, “My parents paid them well for me to stay here. The business program would have been nice, but Gary is taking courses right now and I don’t want to be anywhere near that bastard or have him see me, broken.”

I wince, but press on, “How about Cook and Mrs. Potter? They have been really good to you.”

Brad shrugs, “They’re paid to be my babysitters, since my parents can’t be around and I needed adult assistance,” he pauses and considers my anxious look, “No, it’s not like that. My parents do care and actually love me. Unlike Gary’s parents, who left him and his older sister, Melinda, with nannies and servants. My parents work extremely hard even with more money than anyone could possibly need in a lifetime to make the world work. Gary’s parents have other people do the work for them, while they enjoyed sipping champagne and chasing ass on tropical islands. Gary’s parents are the consumer-billionaires, who made money off others and gave little back. My parents are the producer-billionaires, who make money by building and keeping the world running. My parents tried to spend more time with me, they were by my bedside last year after what happened. It was around the same time the US Oil prices went negative, too. Their employees and everyone else begged them to leave me for things like reorganizing the refinery schedules and increasing drum capacity. They did leave with other people, but the world needed them. They’re good parents and good people.”

I can’t imagine that kind of life, where parents abandon you for their jobs, but still love you. My own parents disowned me for something trivial like sexuality, but Brad’s parents have probably thousands of employees, millions of businesses, and billions of dollars that require their attention. I remember the oil price collapse that Brad mentioned, I also remember how it quickly rebounded after a few months back to normal. I don’t study business, but it was shocking to see that things could get so bad, then thing return to normal. I didn’t consider how much work had to go into it, or the reality that people like Brad’s parents would have to make sacrifices to keep the world running. I picture billionaires to act like Gary’s parents, but maybe, the reality is dependent on how you make your money rather than the fact that you have it. I understand why Brad feels like he has to live up to his parents’ example.

I sympathize with Brad, but his answer is inadequate. He’s still ignoring the people around him.

“How about Chip, Paki, Warren, and Min? They live here with you.”

Brad considers my point, “Cook, brought them in because he wanted to help me build ties with gay guys with tragic backgrounds like mine, except for Chip,” a smirk forms on his face, “He made me smile sometimes with his hyperactive expressions and Pokémon themed outfits. He used to poke around my rose bushes outside, admiring the beautiful flowers. Chip has gotten on my nerves, but I shouldn’t have called him a retard. I think he still resents me for it, since he doesn’t come around the garden anymore. Still, I will make it up to him. He might have ADHD and be on the autism spectrum, but he will end up as a gay conceptual artist or fashion designer with his eclectic personality. I’ll be buying overpriced stuff from him in a decade after he finishes art school, I’ll pay for that if he needs it. The other guys, I don’t care to know.”

Well, at least he does like Chip and he regrets calling him a retard. I play my final card to push home the point he needs to build more connections rather than leave.

“What about Francis? You don’t think he matters.”

Brad freezes, his breathing shortens, and he hesitates before saying, “You win…”

Brad releases me from his hold and turns away from me. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I won’t let the subject drop.

I ask, “Why don’t you guys talk? He still cares about you and I know you care about him.”

Brad without facing me replies, “I don’t love him. He gave up too much for me. I owe him too much.”

I rub Brad’s back slowly, trying to return some of the comfort he gave me, “It’s okay to open yourself to other people. I think you’ll find these guys are worth being friends with. You know Francis, you want to make it up to Chip, and you are willing to open yourself up for me, can you try to open yourself to the others?”

He sighs, “I’ll try, but I want something from you.”

Smiling, I would accept any concession he might put on me, “Deal, whatever it is, I’m onboard.”

He turns to face me, his disfigured face showing a toothy grin with a misaligned mouth, “I know I am too damaged for sex, can you just read to me every night, your choice of book. Maybe sometimes, we can do what we did last night? If I get too pushy with wanting sex, when I am off methadone. You don’t have to be close to me.”

I smirk and playfully shake my hips a little without concern, “What if it’s not you who wants sex?”

Brad gently places a hand on my well-endowed dick, rubbing and squeezing it beneath my thin jeans. He uses his other hand to rub down my spine to my ass cheeks.

“I’d satisfy your needs, but I don’t have much to offer with my body the way it is. I can’t suck you, you can’t fuck me, and if I let you suck me or you let me fuck you, I would worry I am using you. So, this is all I can give you, Beau.”

I moan as he touches me sexually with his hands, while I am fully clothed. His hand circles my crotch and entices my ass with a promise of entry. Guys back in Minnesota had me give them hand jobs or Jeremy always had me bottoming for him without ever letting me cum, but Brad was blowing my mind with his expert fingers. I shot a load into my briefs with the intoxicating aroma of his sweat and the caresses of his hands against the fabrics covering my private parts.

I can’t believe it, he caused me to orgasm with just indirect rubbing and a squeeze. I know there was the factors of me rubbing against him throughout the night and my morning hardon as well, but it was his touch that cause my climax. No one has given me something like that. My role has reversed as the receiver, Brad is giving me everything: a place to live, protection, and even sexual release. Brad doesn’t know how special he is, he doesn’t know how sweet he really is.

I know he saw what he did to me as he quickly removes his hand and a guilty expression now spread on his face.

As I catch my breath, I assure Brad, “Thank you, no one has done that for me. I’m usually the one giving everything, never receiving. You’ve given me more than I could have dreamed.”

Brad’s smile return, “I’m glad you liked what I did, but don’t feel obligated to return it. I won’t be able to get a hard until Monday or maybe even Tuesday. Then, I’ll start being extremely horny on Thursday and Friday.”

I giggle as he details his weekly sexual mood swings, “We can figure that out, when it happens. Right now, we need to take a shower and change. You’re covered in sweat and my underwear is sticky. Maybe Cook has breakfast ready. I want you to sit in the spot that was meant for you, be more than the isolated monster everyone thinks you are.”

Brad sighs, “I’ll try for you.”

Brad and I leave his bed simultaneously. He goes to his drawer for fresh shirt, underwear, and sweatpants. I grab my shoes and jacket from where I left them last night, then leave his room. I can smell the scent of breakfast, but did not hear anyone speaking in the dining area, so I probably have time for a quick shower. I review my own drawer and pick out a new pair of boxers, along with an old T-shirt and shorts. I took a quick shower and dress.

On my way back to my room, I encounter an excited Chip. He’s wearing a blue and black Pokémon T-shirt with a black bandana. The cartoon in the back shows a Riolu and Lucario, the Lucario offering a blue sphere to his little friend, the caption says “Sharing your Aura is sharing your strength”.

Chip spots me and runs towards me, “Wow, Beau, you’re already up. I can’t wait to tell you about all the Pokémon I caught. It was so awesome to play the new games. I chose Chimchar as my first starter, he’s the cutest little monkey starter ever. I like Grookey in the Galar region, too, but I think he was given too many rare candies and got way too many muscles. I like muscular guys, but they can be mean, like the Beast. Did you sleep with him last night?”

Despite being a 12-year-old, it doesn’t feel weird to be asked that question, “We only huggle last night.”

Chip eyes me suspiciously, then looks at the dirty stained underwear in my hand.

“I started making cum, last year, when I started dreaming about boys. I thought I was peeing in bed and got really nervous. I remember my dad used to yell and hit me, when I did that. He called me worthless and made me sleep naked without a blanket after he hit me. I won’t yell at you for making cum with the Beast.”

On one hand, I feel embarrassed that Chip saw my cum-stained underwear, it makes me want to run and hide in my room. On the other, hearing about his father verbally and physically abusing him as a child for something as stupid as wetting the bed, it makes me want to open my soul to him and confess everything.

I settle my mind, “I like him a lot Chip, we’re probably boyfriends, but neither of us have used labels to describe what we are to each other. He’s a good person Chip, not just a Beast.”

Chip stares at me in amazement, “Do you love him? You only said you “like” him and you’re both boyfriends, but didn’t say “love”. Paki and Francis say they love each other a lot. Sometimes Paki uses weird words I don’t understand, but I know it means “I love you” or something. They call each other boyfriends. Robby and I don’t say we love each other, even if we like kissing a lot. We don’t call each other boyfriends, is that weird?”

I try to think of the word “love”, but I can’t really imagine it for myself. Paki and Francis love each other, it’s quite obvious. Francis still loves Brad, it’s unrequited, but it is love. Warren loves Noah, there’s actual material proof that Noah loves Warren despite the distance separating them. I do care for Brad, more than any other boy I’ve ever met, I know I want him sexually and romantically to the point of being in a relationship with him. Yet, everyone else can say “I love you”, except for me. I can’t say that to Brad, he hasn’t said it to me, either. He wants to take care and protect me. Love isn’t just that.

I try to deflect from talking about love, “Chip, what is Cook making for breakfast today?”